


Chill

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Horcrux Hunting, Illnesses, Pneumonia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5538188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she denied it often enough, maybe it wouldn't be true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chill

**Author's Note:**

> For the pneumonia square of my [HC Bingo](http://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card.

"I think I'm sick," Hermione said, with an ugly cough between nearly every word. It was so predictable that she can barely she missed it, but then, they'd had much bigger things to think about lately. But although the tent had no innate heating spells woven into it, Hermione had thought she could beat the never-ending chills. They could never keep it warm enough; it wasn't safe enough to build a fire inside it, and with the way the locket drained them, their heating charms just weren't enough. With Ron gone and only one wand between them, the situation had gotten even worse.

"Do you really think so?" Harry asked, handing her a freshly made cup of hot tea. "Because I remember you saying just an hour ago that _for god's sake Harry stop assuming things_ when I brought it up."

Hermione huffed at him, holding the tea as close to herself as possible. And then she huffed a little more, because it was brewed just the way she liked it.

Harry smiled at her. Not much at all, not like the big, wide smiles they used to have, but enough to make her smile back. Until another coughing fit overcame her.

Hermione had to put down the tea.

A couple days later, she couldn't even deny being sick.

"We could go to St. Mungo's," Harry said. His fingers were white around the damned locket. Hermione hadn't even worn it in days; the first time she tried while sick, she'd not stopped throwing up for an hour, and after that Harry wouldn't let her near it.

"Don't, it's not serious," Hermione told him.

Harry gave her a look.

She gave him one back.

It wasn't serious, she told herself. It wasn't pneumonia.

(Hermione quite liked lying, once she'd learned. And lying to oneself wasn't all that bad. It was the only thing that kept her spirits up these days.)

Signs of pneumonia, memorized by Hermione Granger, aged eight, in an attempt to stay home from school: fever, chills, cough, vomiting, diarrhea. She hadn't had diarrhea yet. Thus, it couldn't be pneumonia. But the lie was barely holding up in her own head, because Hermione had never felt so awful in her life. If this wasn't pneumonia, it was something just as bad. At least pneumonia was familiar. Still, she wouldn't say the words.

Instead, she curled into herself under all the blankets in the tent and stayed in bed for another day. She missed her bed at Hogwarts, and the one at home. She even missed the beds at the Burrow, for all that they occasionally bore hidden caches of Fred and George's experiments.

Harry brought her yet another mug of tea. This time, he didn't leave. He sat down on the tent floor and leaned his back against Hermione's bed. With another cup of tea in his own hand and a plate of food he tried to press onto her next to him, he began reading aloud Beedle's tales.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
